Harry Potter One Shots
by bleeb90
Summary: Little fantasies about how a little thing could go different, and it's immediate result(s).
1. Vault

**"Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of little bronze Knuts."**

"All of this is mine?"

"Yes."

"Hagrid, the Daily Prophet was 5 knuts, wasn't it?"

"Yes, why?"

"If I'd say that a muggle newspaper would cost 1 pound, and the Daily Prophet costs 5 knuts, I could assume 5 knuts is about 1 pound, or 1 knut 20 pence, correct?"

After seeing Griphook's confirming nod, Harry went happily on, glad that he could finally show off his talent in math without being reigned in by the Dursley's because he would make his fat cousin look bad by comparison.

"29 knuts divided by five would be... 5,8 knuts... or 5,80 pounds."

At yet another nod from the approving goblin – logical wizards were a contradiction and a novelty in itself – Harry grinned and became even more enthusiastic.

"That means 1 sickle is about 5,8 pounds sterling, and 17 sickles or 1 galleon almost 100 pounds sterling, correct?"

Griphook gave Harry a approving nod.

"The exchange rate we have is 100 pounds sterling to a galleon and 1 galleon to 100 pounds sterling, our profit is 1,4 %."

Harry nodded happily when he heard he hadn't lost his touch.

"This is truly an obscene amount of money. Correct me if I'm wrong, but could I estimate that I have at least one cubic yard of galleons in front of me?"

Hagrid, looking befuddled at the mathematical talk stayed silent, Griphook on the other hand grinned.

"I'd say that you're being very modest, Mr Potter."

Tentatively, he walked towards the closest mound of gold coins – galleons, he reminded himself – to pick a single coin up. He peered at it.

"About a inch long and 1/5 inch thick... That means a stack of 5 galleons would be a cubic inch."

With a gleam in his eyes he began to count.

"One cubic yard would mean 36 inch times 36 inch times 36 inch..."

He was silent for about a minute until he had it figured out. It would be 46656 coins... times five of course... And he began to think again until he knew he had it right.

"One cubic yard of galleons means over 233.000 galleons! That's over 23 million pounds! I'm a multi millionaire!"

Harry's grin became somewhat maniacal.

"I'm not going back to the Dursley's until school begins if I easily can afford lodging."

Harry looked up to Hagrid.

"What is the recommended amount of money for standard school stuff?"

Hagrid frowned.

"Hogwarts always recommends a shopping budget of about 30 galleons for first years, though we manage 25 galleons if it is from the school trust. In the following school years when a student has basic equipment, and when the purchases mainly consist of parchment, quills, potion ingredients and books, it is about 10 galleons."

Harry beamed up to the half giant.

"In that case I am definitely going to splurge a bit on some things... I think 70 galleons ought to be more than enough."

Hagrid looked as if he was about to protest, but he could see that Harry wouldn't take no for an answer.

…

At the end of the day Harry sat in a room of the Leaky Cauldron with his new pet Hedwig, and thought of what he had accomplished now he knew he a bit financial leeway.

He had successfully convinced Hagrid that he didn't have to go back to the Dursley's – the undeniable backlash concerning Dudley's pigtail was a solid argument.

He had bought not only a wand, but after questioning Mr Ollivander he new knew how to care for it, and how to carry it (the holster was neat).

Harry had managed to buy a super deluxe school trunk with some sort of magical lock that only he could open, it had seven dimensions of which one consisted of a library drawer. The sales-man had said that the drawer had literally the capacity of a decent library.

And even on the first day he managed to start a nice book collection. On recommendation of the most impressed the goblin named Griphook, Harry had bought a large variety of Arithmancy books. He also had managed to find a introduction books to wizarding culture for the muggle born and raised; several books on wizarding etiquette and a whole lot on modern magical history – he wanted to know why everyone was staring at his head. The crown on his new collection were the books on self defense; after being told that lots of 'bad guys' weren't in jail, he knew that decent self protection wasn't optional.

When the store clerk found out of Harry's desire to buy a whole lot of books, he also recommended several books on the hows and why's of the art of potion making, and even more important: a book that consisted of nothing else than a long catalog of all magical flora, fauna and other magical stuff found in nature; their magical properties and their reactions with other magical substances.

After flipping his extra potion books through, he couldn't understand why these weren't mandatory.

…

At the end of august Harry knew what kind of environment the wizarding world was, and thanks to _Hogwarts, a History_ he even knew what to expect of his new school (he wanted to be in Hufflepuff, loyalty, hard work, and more important – justice! After ten years of living with those horribly unfair relatives of his, he appreciated the idea of having dorm-mates with the same values. In fact, Harry thought he would be proud if he would be defined by such traits.

On a different note; Harry managed to spend a good portion of his new found capital in the muggle world. He would go to school with a whole new wardrobe – summer and winter – and even stuff in a few sizes up in case he suddenly started growing at school. He had even found himself a new pair of glasses, and was overall happy that he at least looked normal.

…

**Harry was glad he wouldn't be completely ignorant.**


	2. Skeeter

**"Hey...my eyes aren't 'glistening with the ghosts of my past'!" **

When the dratted quill didn't stop writing nonsense, Harry suddenly an epiphany; a way out. He looked at Rita with big eyes, sincerely hoping he looked genuinely taken aback.

"That quill... It thinks for it self. Where are its brains?"

Rita looked surprised, and kept silent, unsure of how to react to such a statement.

"I don't trust objects that can think for their selves, let alone objects that are capable of writing juicy sensationalist story by themselves. Ma'am, that quill is pure evil, and as such I would not want to be near that... that... _thing!_"

Harry stomped out of that cupboard and went straight to his Headmaster.

"Professor Dumbledore!"

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Do you remember that conversation we had after the basilisk debacle?"

"We have spoken about quite a few things after you slain that basilisk, Harry, you have got to help me here." 

"Our talk about things thinking for it-selves, not seeing where it keeps its brains? I oughtn't to trust them, because they are generally dark magic?"

"Yes..." Nodded Dumbledore slowly, not quite understanding what that had to do with the Triwizard Tournament interview.

Harry smirked while he drew himself up to his full length.

"Ms Skeeter uses a quill that thinks for itself and I find it quite disconcerting. Professor, are such magics even _allowed_ on the school premises?"

Dumbledore caught on and began to smirk too.

"Why, Mr Potter, I think you are quite right. Please excuse me until I escort Ms Skeeter out of the castle since such dubious objects are most certainly a bad influence on the students and oughtn't to be in the castle..."


	3. Trial

"**They were bound to clear you," said Hermione, who had looked positively faint with anxiety when Harry had entered the kitchen and was now holding a shaking hand over her eyes, "there was no case against you, none at all."**

That simple sentence broke something.

Just like his wand, earlier today.

"The trial was a complete farce; I had no legal representation, they didn't let me answer the questions properly, Figg was disregarded just because she's a squib... But here is the real kicker: a headmaster and a chairman of Merlin knows how many political functions, all in one under the grandiose name of Albus Sodding Dumbledore, showed up by the time they were done with me. Apparently he suddenly fancied himself an attorney, but due to the sudden changed time of the trial, _he missed it._ Didn't even had the decency to look me in the eye."

He growled.

"They have effectively managed to further cement my reputation as a lying attention seeking twat, or whatever it is they call me these days; they managed to break my wand, and therefore managed to throw me out of Hogwarts."

"Ouch."

"Yes, ouch." Harry frowned. Apart from that, nobody really dared to say anything, because what could you say on occasions like these? He shook his head, left the room full of dazed people and walked to the library, to properly brood in solitude.

…

It was later that day in a more private setting when Harry's dam burst.

"Honestly Hermione? I don't even know why I am still trying. Regardless of whether someone is or isn't guilty, it doesn't matter. If they want to pin something down on someone, they simply defenestrate all logic, witness accounts, alibi's and all law in general."

"In fact," Harry said exasperatedly while dramatically throwing his arms up in the air, "I am rather surprised that no-one showed up at Privet Drive, and simply told me _'Hello mr. Potter, we have decided we don't like you anymore, so we will snap your wand now. __**Snap!**__ Ta!'_"

"Just _think_ about it! The first Chamber of Secrets debacle; you know, when Moaning Myrtle was murdered? Riddle pointed his finger at Hagrid and that blasted acromantula of his, and the next thing we know, Hagrid is thrown out of school! How could they even link the symptoms of a basilisk to a bleeding acromantula? It would have made more sense to suspect that some blithering idiot suddenly found an appreciation for the killing curse when Myrtle snuffed it! But _nooo_ – and why didn't they investigate any further or _think_? Because Hagrid is a half giant. Argh!"

Harry was pacing now.

"And some fifty odd years later the chamber gets reopened, and without any reason or cause, they throw Hagrid into Azkaban because – and I remember Fudge saying it quite clearly – it would look like the ministry was _**doing**_ something. And when they finally got their heads out of their arse, they let him out of Azkaban, but he didn't get reparations, let alone the permit to carry a wand again."

"Today too, when Dumbledore feebly tried to dispute my already broken wand. Fudge was quite clear with his choice of words: **'Laws can be changed.'**"

Harry snorted mirthlessly, "I'm beginning to think that man has changed the Ministry of Magic's motto into 'Ex Post Facto', or some such thing."

His audience, consisting out of Sirius, Remus and Hermione, cringed. It didn't help that Harry's body language screamed righteous anger.

"And we all know that that isn't the first time something like that happened, do we? Under Bagnold's administration, when my parents were murdered? Sirius was thrown into Azkaban – for life, mind you – without a trial! I think I'm seeing a trend here! And even someone seemingly sensible like Dumbledore – mind you, I am _not_ his biggest fan at the moment – didn't bother to investigate further, even though it was common knowledge that Sirius and James had basically declared themselves to be each other brothers."

Harry fumed, and ranted further.

"Not to mention the magical oath Sirius must have pledged in order to _become_ my godfather. To this day Sirius probably still is unable to do something that would harm my physical wellbeing." He looked at his godfather to see him nod to confirm Harry's suspicions. With trouble he reigned his sudden tendency to repeatedly bash his head into the wall. The general stupidity of the wizarding world was truly baffling.

"If anyone cared to think for _just a minute_ they would have figured that out! I mean, I wasn't even raised in the wizarding culture, and I was able to deduce that. But nobody did that, didn't they? And why? Because nobody _cared_. Because Sirius was a Black, and the Blacks are... well, black. And that was all there was to it. It disgusts me!"

By now he was even making wild gestures to emphasize his story, something he normally never did.

"When I was thirteen I tried to tell the minister that I knew my godfather was innocent. Did it matter? Did they ask me for a pensive memory? Did they wait for the professor-turned-werewolf to change back and to ask his witness account? _No!_ And why, you might ask? Because it was bad politics, so that no good minister smiles at me like I am some demented toddler, and tells me I must have been confunded, right? _They just don't listen._ Why? _Because they don't care for the truth!_"

Three pairs of wide eyes were staring at Harry, abhorred by the implications of the solid facts he was dishing out in front of them.

"I mean, honestly, a year later Fudge stands next to my hospital bed again, and I tell him Voldemort's back, and the tosser ignores it. Begins to complain I am not to be trusted; even outright _admitted_ that he based his opinion of me on Skeeters articles, and then – talk about mind boggling – he complains that I tell crackpot stories each and every year. Never mind the fact that it was _him_, last year, who told me that I couldn't help being confunded!"

"You know what that means, Sirius?" Growled Harry, seeing a confused godfather meet his eyes.

"He obviously forgot that he told me I was confunded and therefore delusional; that means he doesn't remember what he told me to try and iron out the wrinkles in the story last year. If you honestly thought that a mass murderer had had managed to capture three innocent school-aged kids – out of which one was a celebrity on a pedestal for crying out loud – and proceeded to cunfound them in the hope they'd vouch for his innocence, you'd believe it to be a tragedy! Something like that isn't easy to forget. Heck, you'd probably remember it for the rest of your life."

He pleadingly sought his godfathers eyes.

"Sirius, that Fudge accused me of cock and bull stories then and there, clearly means he knew that somebody in the ministry made a huge cock-up, and rather than setting things straight, he proceeded by trying to sweep it all under the carpet, and trying to make sure you got kissed before anyone could ask any questions! That is his modus operandi, he did it again with Crouch Jr – _he was kissed before the aurors had seen him!_"

This had his godfather baffled. They severely go in the wrong with the heir to the Lordship of a Most Ancient and Noble House, and rather than set things straight, they try to kill the wronged one, so that nobody complains?

At this point, Hermione wrinkled her nose. The name 'Crouch' rubbed her the wrong way, regardless of which one they were talking about. She was still irked by the careless manner of how Crouch dismissed Winky so easily. Years of faithful service, and being found in a very unfortunate position was enough to get the sack. And to think that he broke the law for Merlin-knows-how-many-years, keeping his convicted son at home under an invisibility cloak. And all that time there wasn't a single soul who thought something was amiss. Ridiculous! Yes, it was absolutely ridiculous that magicals, in a world where nothing always is what it seems to be, nobody even bothers by looking beneath the surface to find out what actually is going on.

Harry looked at her and that instant she knew that he knew what she was thinking. When he spoke again, she was shocked by the softness in his voice. It sounded deceptively calm.

"Hermione, what ought to irk you, is that you, and Remus, much like any other sentient creature – and _how I loathe_ that term – are treated as third rate citizens or worse. Those stinking self entitled purebloods need every ounce of input they can get from brilliant minds like the two of you, because it is smart and innovative people like you that could actually improve this Merlin forsaken community. Don't bother deluding yourself that they will ever appreciate you, a muggleborn."

Suddenly, Harry looked at his uncles. Honorary godfather and the real one. "Don't think that I haven't figured out yet why my muggleborn mum, whom kept ignoring the endless advances of a certain pureblood heir of the Potter line, was suddenly head over heels with my father and happily consented to marry him. I wouldn't be surprised if she dosed herself up with amortentia or some such, because a respectable pureblood husband was her ticket to a charms mastery."

You'd truly have to be a special brand of crazy to see no faults in the way one had to navigate themselves throughout the 'wizarding world', as magical Britain would like to call their isolationist community.

"And you want to know what really scares me? I'm afraid that within a few months, the media will have made me out to be not only a deranged lunatic, but a dangerous one as well. I can imagine it happening already... While I am out, squandering money somewhere because I won't have anything better to do – seeing as I won't be going back to Hogwarts – or maybe on a different occasion, but definitely somewhere very public, they will arrest me, with a full Auror corps present. And I won't have a trial. And they probably won't even tell me which murder they will be accusing me of – and I don't even know how to turn into an animal to escape!"

"You squandering money?" Snorted Hermione, trying to find mirth in the dire situation Harry was sketching.

"I imagine that when I'm obviously not bothered with school anymore I have to do something with my time. Merlin knows I truly have to be motivated to actually do something. And I know I have enough money not to work a day in my life if I choose to. I could go explore myself."

And suddenly Hermione realized that the coming school year would be lonely without the man whom she loved... albeit platonically.

"Oh Harry!" The next thing he knew, he was engulfed in Hermione's arms, and for a few seconds he tried to let her soothe him. It didn't work though. Harry was still feeling slighted, and voiced that.

"You know what the sad part is? Nothing can bring Cedric back from the dead, and with Voldemort out and about he will be the first of many. And regardless of how the ministry tries to screw me over, Voldemort will hate me for my sheer tenacity in refusing to drop dead. He will see me as an embarrassment, someone that has to be taken out."

He closed his eyes and ducked his head in Hermione's hair.

"And my loyal holy-phoenix wand which saved my life on more than one occasion now consists out of two parts. I can't buy myself a new wand within Britain, and I am exempted of magical education: I can't even learn some defensive magic in the hope to give the Dark Tosser at least a fight – it'd be nice if I could actually take some Death Eaters with me when I die."

He sniffed.

"And no matter how much I vent about everything being unfair, it still doesn't change that Remus and Sirius won't be given the time of anyones day to hear their story and to realize those two aren't ruthless killers. I can't go back to Hogwarts – hell, they might even try to send me back to the Dursley's – I don't even know why I would want go back to that biased lot I had to call peers for four years! Even Ron showed his true colours and turned his back on me when my name came out of the goblet. And no matter how much I missed my friend, or how quickly I have forgiven him, I can't help but fearing the moment he'll betray my trust again. You were the only thing keeping me there, Hermione. You were the sole reason I planned to return to that Merlin forsaken hell hole – provided I would live to see the end of that trice damned tournament!"

Harry sniffed again, "Everything just generally sucks at the moment!"

Silence.

"You know," Sirius said tentatively, "I remember that my mother had this extremely illegal time turner. Rather than hours, you could choose to go back months or years."

Now _that _had potential. He knew he couldn't create paradoxes, or change the time line so rigorously that he wouldn't recognize his present anymore, but it definitely had potential. Within seconds he already had some sort of plan.

"I could go back to November the first of '81. Go to the goblins and establish that I am Harry Potter, sole heir to the Potter fortune, and that I want a working muggle debit and credit card, be able to access magical valuta around the world, and the bank statements to go to older me in stead of mini-me. I could actually take the time to learn how to defend myself."

Silence.

"Harry," Remus said, "you will have to make sure in very much detail when and where you are expected to be 'Harry' again... You will have to be very exact with de-aging potion. You will have to make sure that you exactly remember who you are expected to be when your borrowed time is up. You'll have to act as a teenager again when you're all grown up. It's nearly impossible."

"Tssk," scoffed Harry. "I just have to write a letter to the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly. In that letter I tell them I am fed up with the British magical community, that I'll immigrate, and my message to the public: go fuck yourself. When I turn back in time I'll have fourteen years to shape up, and to train myself not to be an easy target, and to get another identity."

With a vindictive smile, he elaborated further. "After September '95 I'll make sure to show the face everybody identifies with the famous Boy Who Lived in some very crowded magical community every once in a while. As long as I'll have a good photo of how I look right now – and I can buy a newspaper for that, really – I'm sure I'll find a way to make myself look like the kid everyone expects me to be in that time frame."

The cat-ate-the-canary smile became even wider.

"Voldemort, being the psychopathic megalomaniac he is, won't be able to leave me alone. In no-time he will have dispatched his minions out there, looking for my every trace. And since their first lead is somewhere very public, it won't go unnoticed by the local aurors. If I'll be away far enough for Voldemort not to be as fear-inspiring as in Britain, but close enough to still be an international household name, his return will be in the newspapers, and the proof will be incontrovertible."

"In other words, I'll have done my public service of announcing his rebirth properly; have managed to finish my magical education, and the peace of a new identity. No-one could guilt-trip me into becoming their very own boy-hero/martyr."

Sirius silently looked at Harry for a long time.

"It's brilliant. Would you perchance like the company of a Grim for a pet, while you're using mothers time turner?"

"I'd be delighted."


	4. Secret Keeper

**Fidelus under Dumbledore's advice...**

Lilly had that glint in her eyes again. Whenever she looked like that, James wisely decided that he'd leave her to make the important decisions, and act like a properly pussy-whipped husband. Not that she would allow him to actually have an opinion at such times. So when he came home with his wonderful wife after visiting the Order of the Phoenix where they just had a emotional conversation with Albus, Frank and Alice regarding their son and godson, he simply did as his wife ordered. He complied when she unceremoniously handed him Harry with the words: "Don't you dare to leave our baby-boy out of sight right now."

"I'll be," he muttered as he automatically he shifted to make Harry comfortable in his arms. "Talk about sounding ominous."

He could have sworn that she had woven magic into that command.

Thus he sat meekly on the couch while his wife bustled through the house in a frenzy, trying to ignore the the noise that sounded as if she were raiding her own potions cabinet. After a particularly hard crash of what sounded like glass drowned whatever nonsense he was talking to his son, he simply hugged his little Prongs jr tighter and tried to pretend all was well. No, there wasn't a prophecy, Lily hadn't turned into Wife-zilla, and they most certainly did not live in times of war.

Maybe he should convince Lily for the three of them to move to the Bermuda. ...No. His task was child rearing at the moment, he reminded himself. If she found him writing an inquiring letter to Gringotts real-estate division rather than playing with their little baby-boy, she would not be pleased. Daring to cross paths with his wife could very well lethal, and therefore ill-advised to do. She said she had a plan – a plan she was working on right now; yes, his beautiful Lily-flower would know what to do, like always.

…

"Lily," Remus asked tentatively, "why are you sealing the room so you have to be the first to leave alive and free of influence of potions and spells?"

"I was wondering about that as well," Sirius pondered out loud, "I recognize some of those, Lilz, I read about that kind of stuff in the Black family library. Why on earth are you using these kind of lethal negotiation wards when we are under friends?"

"It... It is almost as if you don't trust us anymore, Lily." Added Peter, sounding aghast at the idea of being among people that couldn't be trusted.

"That is exactly what it sounds like, Peter," responded Lily with a grim face, while absently patting Harry on the had who happily gurgled some incomprehensible words next to her breast in the baby carrier. "Even though I trust all of you emotionally, rationally I know there is a spy amongst our midst, so I can't trust you. All of you."

The four men winced.

"So I have come up with a solution: a drinking game."

If it weren't such a dire situation, she would have loved to make a photo of the incredulous faces looking at her. James was the first to recover and began to sputter.

"A drinking game? Are you out of your mind, Lily? I know you have Irish roots, but come on! Alcohol doesn't solve anything! This is our son we are talking about." James began to gesture wildly in his agitation. "There is a megalomaniac that could very well be out to off our son as we speak, and you think booze is the answer? Wat the hell?!"

She made a scoffing noise.

"Don't be ridiculous James. Now, I expect all four of you to hand me your wands peacefully. If you do not comply I will take your wand, but it won't be peaceful." The tone of warning was light, but not to be taken lightly.

They all knew it. It wasn't just James whom she had proverbially beaten into submission. All four meekly presented her their wands. She nodded friendly with each wand she accepted, and put them all in her back pocket. The four defenseless men looked at each other when they saw Lily's smile becoming more forced and fearsome than it already was.

"Now boys, stick out your tongues, and wait for your three drops of Veritaserum – not much drinking, I know, but meh; who cares for semantics anyway?"

Not one of them dared to retort with anything. Twelve drops later she looked positively feral.

"Now boys, pay attention, here is my question: Are you a Death Eater, or in any way in alliance with Voldemort or his idea's?"

Simultaneously she heard three times "no I'm not", and one time "yes I am". She was glad to see that Remus, who was sitting next to Peter, didn't waste any time by physically knocking him unconscious.

One spell later, she had the rat as naked as the day he was born. Checking his wrist they saw inevitable evidence. The three friends were very disappointed to see the Dark Mark on the wrist of their newly ex-friend.

"Remus, could you be a dear and check all of his openings for hidden portkeys? I want to be thorough."

The werewolf grimaced, and did as asked; only to look completely disgusted when he found out he had to remove a genital piercing from Peter. Brilliant, if not disgusting. Remus didn't look sorry at all when he showed no mercy and ripped the thing off... Maybe not so brilliant after all. After their irrational male-sympathy wince Sirius and James nodded approvingly at Remus.

As he accepted his wand back from Lily, he did another spell to check if he had indeed removed all piercings, meanwhile Lily was strapping the baby carrier off, after handing Harry back to James.

Ignoring the two almost brothers, who were happy to occupy themselves with Harry in favour for not having to deal with Peter, she sat opposite of Remus, trapping the unconscious Peter between the two of them.

"That were all the portkey's?"

"Yes."

"Good, now would you mind turning him on his belly so I can have his back – good, thanks Moony."

Remus looked with fearful eyes at Lily who had no qualms about holding a wicked looking dagger – was that a silver alloy? Remus decided that she, in her capacity as a mother looked more feral than he thought himself, a werewolf, to ever be capable of.

"Lily, not that don't I approve, because I don't mind any harm you inflict on this... person, but what on earth are you carving on his back?"

"Runes."

Peter moaned softly, only to be kicked swiftly in the head by Sirius.

"Yes, we can see that, but we aren't familiar with this particular array."

"It prevents his body to every be transfigured in anything ever again, Padfoot. In a moment little Wormy here will have lost his animagus form."

"Brilliant."

"I know," she said, with her voice sounding dangerously pleasant. "That's why I have mixed salt through the ink that I will rub into his wounds when I'm finished with this scarification. I want that filthy little rat to suffer."

Fifteen minutes later, the three men were looking approvingly at their turncoat-friend's back. Lily was a gruesome artist, they unanimously agreed.

Not that she cared for their approval. She proceeded by cursing Peter with extreme muscle weakness.

"Remus, pull him in sitting position and hold him so he can't move, Sirius, the second I enevervate him, I want you to hold his nose. The minute he opens his mouth I will pour this vial of Draught of Living Death in his mouth. When that's done, we don't have to worry about him anymore."

After two minutes of struggle, Peter looked dead for all intents and purposes.

"Now boys, Peter can wait right now, so here is what we will do. First I want Remus and Sirius to do a fatherhood blood-ritual to make sure you aren't his honorary uncles, or lawfully unacknowledged godfathers, but honest-to-Merlin daddies. In that case, when something happens to James and I, and Sirius does something incredibly dumb again – and hasn't anybody to pay his bail, like he would have otherwise – Remus has full rights over Harry. Capiche?"

After a half hour of bickering they had finally talked Remus into giving Harry some of his blood – Lily had insisted that she had looked into it extensively for quite a while now, and concluded her little baby-boy would only benefit from it.

Two hours and an complicated ritual later, all three fathers were looking at Lily expectingly.

"Now we have taken care of almost everything. I want the four of us to swear an binding oath of protection and fidelity towards each other. You won't die or lose your magic if you break it, because the vow will make you physically incapable of doing so."

Four three-way vows later, Lily looked quite satisfied.

"Now I own a studio in Dorgheda in Ireland, James has bought this cottage in Godrics Hollow, Sirius inherited the little cottage from his uncle Alphard in Hogsmead, and Remus owns his cottage with excellent bunker in Ewloe, Wales. I want them all under fidelus. So here is what we are going to do."

She took a deep breath.

"I will be Sirius' secret keeper."

"Sirius will be James' secret keeper."

"James will be Remus' secret Keeper."

"And to complete the circle, Remus will be my secret keeper."

She was answered with smiles.

"Brilliant idea, Lily-flower; I don't know what we would do without you."

"Random recklessness, James. That's what you would be up to. Do not think I have forgotten that you wanted to name our precious son Elvendork..."

…

They didn't get any sleep, but at seven AM, four properties were under fidelus. The prophecy went unfulfilled when in 1981 Voldemort, in an attempt to make his seventh and final horcrux, disintegrated his body in the process. This was a month after Regulus Black died after drinking that horrible potion.

Sirius, two month's after Voldemort's death, couldn't be more delighted to hear that his mother finally kicked the bucket. Apparently, she went completely around the bend at seeing her youngest son's cold body. As Sirius took up the mantle as the new Lord Black, he asked Kreacher what the hell the elf thought he was doing (not cleaning, and banging a piece of jewelry into the wall instead), and miraculously got a straight answer. The horcrux was brought to the department of ministries where they could do an easy ritual to make the soul whole again, effectively gathering Voldemort's wraith as well. They destroyed the horcrux-holding-a-whole-soul in the ministry atrium in front of countless reporters, live on the WWN.

Protest against blood-racism eventually led to a revolution in which the ministry and the Wizengamot were occupied by an angry mob; sick of back-door politics and the undemocratic system. Harry's generation would know no war.

…

What Lily Potter hadn't anticipated was that the fidelity oaths weren't so much meant for allegiance rather than devotion to one-another. The very oath's nature came with a very strong compulsion against breaking or absolving it as well. Within months the need for physical contact was overwhelming. Walking in on all three of 'her' boys in the bedroom and seeing some of her dirtier fantasies played out in front of her was exhilarating. Demanding to join and be showered in their attention intoxicating. Lily couldn't be a happier woman.

Within a year of that particular event James and Lily bonded their marriage and magic with Sirius and Remus as well. The lovers quartet was blissfully happy. Harry James Potter grew up to be an eldest brother over two twins, Regulus Castor and Alphard Pollux Black; and their baby sister Lotus Larentia Lupin. All four of them had three daddies and one mummy. But no-one in the family would have it any other way.


End file.
